Chickadees
by BreadedSinner
Summary: Varric retrieves a precious item from Hawke's childhood, and she recalls happier days.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm going to beat you this time for sure!" the strained, cracking voice of a boy rung out all across the little farming town. "This time, I will! I-ow!"

Blades of wood thrust upon each other, rigorous clacks ripping through the evening stillness. Birds fluttered down and perched upon the railings of rooftops and the fence posts that overlooked the fields, only to be startled and flap away at the harsh echo of the thwacking toys.

Carver Hawke huffed and grunted as he flung his little sword about, the sticky summer air whooshing against his wide, uncoordinated arcs. Every swing the raven-haired boy made was met with another smack of timber and the smile of his older sister. Across the boy's frustrated glare, dark eyes peered through feathery brown bangs, looking at him with a calmn that riled the hairs on his neck.

"You're still doing it wrong," she said, her voice cool and her stance firm as she parried Carver's attack as if it were a pest flying around her head.

"Shut up!" Carver barked as he launched a second forceful swing. He grunted at the smack of splinters, and he gnashed his teeth as he pressed his sword against hers. "I know how to use a sword!"

"Come ooooon!" Bethany cried, as she watched the battle from close by. She sat atop a makeshift tower of rocks and borrowed stools, arms flailing. "Hurry up and rescue me, Ser Judith!"

"Patience, Princess Bethany!" the eldest Hawke proclaimed, "I shall save you from the tower yet, but first I must defeat the black knight that put you there!"

"You'll never defeat me!" said Carver as he stepped back. He launched at his older sister, raised sword slicing through the air.

With a low sigh and a heavy smack, Judith Hawke deflected her brother's blow. "See, you keep doing that," she said as she countered, a focused sweep against Carver's wooden blade, knocking it out of his hands.

"That's not fai-hey!" His sweaty, splintered fingers recoiled at the loss of their possession and clenched into fists. As he watched his sword tumble against the dirt, he felt a gentle tap against his shoulder. Carver lifted his head and found the end of Judith's sword resting beside his neck. Brow fell flat, bottom lip out, and he groaned. "You're a dirty cheat, Judith. That's why you always win."

"Not true," she said plainly, "a knight always fights with honor and bravery. And she always fights smart. You keep throwing yourself around, it was easy to knock the sword out of your hands. Maybe if you control yourself, you'll beat me next time."

Carver pouted as he plopped onto the dirt, arms folded, clouds of dust lifting around his legs. Judith shook her head as she turned to scoop Bethany from her tower.

"Yay, you did it!" she squealed as she kissed her big sister's cheek. "You saved me from the black knight and his tower of grumpiness!"

"As I said I would," said Judith, "all in a day's work. And look!" she gave a sharp whistle and pointed towards the mabari pup, not yet grown into its bags of fur, as he galloped towards the Hawke children. "Here comes my valiant steed to take you to home!"

Carver pouted again, hoisting himself up and retrieving his sword, giggles of his sisters and cheerful puppy barks at his back. With the wooden hilt in his hands again, he made a careful swing, then another, until his teeth were clenched together again and he was batting it through the air, thrashing about, waiting for all the hot breath to leave him.

"Oh, children!" a deep voice boomed from across the field of dirt and grass. Carver took his eyes away from the finely shaved fuller of his toy to see a broad-shouldered man walk from out of the horizon. As soon as the little Hawke boy made out the man's chestnut beard, his sisters ran to him, their collision blooming in laughter. "There you are, my chickadees!" he said in a hearty laugh as he swept Bethany from out of Judith's hands and swung her about. "Did you all have fun today?"

"Papa! Judith rescued me from Carver!" the little Hawke daughter proclaimed.

"Oh did she, now?"

"Carver and I were practicing," said Judith, "Bethany wanted to join, so we made a game of it."

The mountainous man sighed. "You and he are quite set on this knight thing, aren't you, little bird?"

"Yes! That is, well, I am!" the eldest Hawke cried, her normal low voice cracked in a spike of determination. "I'm going to be a knight and protect everyone! I'll slay dragons and rescue princes and princesses from towers, just like in the stories!"

"Hmm I see," said Malcolm Hawke, with a hum like a distant roll of thunder. "Well, there aren't many dragons, you may have to settle for fighting rats and the occasional bear. Not many princes or princesses in Ferelden, either. You'll just have to rescue some arls and banns instead. And who knows? Maybe you'll even rescue one worthy of marriage!"

"What?" Judith gasped, "Papa, no! A knight is married to her duty!"

"Aww, you don't have to kiss him or anything, little bird, just get him to give you money so we can eat meat more than once a week. Now where's Carver?"

"Here I am, Papa," said the little Hawke boy in a dreary defeated tone, dragging his sword behind him.

The father Hawke squinted, quick studied the dirt on his son's face, the rustle of his hair, and gave a disapproving hum. "Bethany, go back to the house and help your mother, would you?" he said as he brought Bethany to the ground and placed her on her feet with a gentle pat. His dark eyes never left Judith and Carver. "Maker knows she could always use another pair of hands with dinner."

With a cheerful, "Okay, Papa!" Bethany was off, the mabari pup trotting along with her, and Malcolm gave a displeased sigh.

"Judith," he said, voice heavy and stern, "I think you've been too rough on your brother."

"But!" she protested, "I'm just trying to help! How's he going to get better if I go easy on him?"

"I don't want her pity, Papa!" Carver joined, "I can do better! I just... I need a better sword! Judith's is bigger than mine!"

"What? No it's not! They're the same! I keep winning because I'm better and you don't listen to me! Papa made them the same!"

"Then let's trade!"

"No, he made this one just for me! Besides, yours has your nasty boy sweat on it!"

"Children!" Malcolm bellowed. Judith's stance snapped straight like a soldier under inspection and Carver, watching her, mimicked it right after. The father swallowed his anger and sighed. "Now I made you these swords so you could play together while I trained Bethany. Why must everything be a contest with you two?"

Carver's face flushed in red, chubby fingers tightening on his hilt. "But Papa, I just want to be a knight like Judith."

The elder Hawke child rolled her dark eyes. "You only say that because that's what I want! Get your own dream!"

"I can be one, too! You can't beat every dragon and rescue every prince and princess! You can't protect everyone all the time! I can do it too!"

"Settle down, chickadee. Now, Judith, if he wants to be a knight, too, then let him. That's a wonderful dream to have. And so what if he got the idea from you? It just means he wants to be like you. And I think that's pretty wonderful."

Judith pouted. "But if he wants to be like me, why doesn't he listen to me? He'll get killed if he throws his sword around like a mad dwarf!"

"Now, now," said Malcolm, "dwarves are a tough lot. Maybe we just need another teaching approach, hmm? I'm afraid I don't know all that much about using swords, and we can't afford lessons, but surely there's something..."

"I know some stuff from books in the Chantry," said Judith, moving her gaze to Carver. "Maybe you can go with me and Bethany next time."

"I guess," Carver pouted, "but reading's boring. The Chantry's boring, too."

"Aww, it's not so bad," laughed Malcolm, "after all, there's lots of cute girls about your age that go. I'm sure you'll be just as popular with the ladies as I was. Just work the old Hawke charm!"

"Papa!" Carver exclaimed, the flush in his cheeks turning into a deeper, more fevered red.

"Oh please," scoffed he eldest Hawke child, "he's not charming! He still thinks girls are gross. Even though a girl keeps beating him!"

"Sorry, chickadee," he said, patting his son's thick head of black hair. "Here, let me make it up to you. Give me your sword. Yours too, Judith." The Hawke children complied, and Malcolm took a knife from out of his belt. They watched him jab and whittle until he handed the toy swords back, each with their respected names etched into the hilts. "There we are! Now they'll always be yours and yours alone. When you swing those swords, you'll do it as a Hawke, fierce and proud!"

"Thank you, Papa!" Judith said with delight.

"I still think hers is a little bigger..." said Carver.

"Don't worry," Malcolm laughed, "once we get some studying done, the size won't matter, just how you swing it! Now let's be off to dinner. You two are getting so big, how is that? Bethany is so little and dainty... you're not stealing her food, are you?"

"No, she gives it to us," said Judith.

"She gives you her food?" gasped Carver.

"She doesn't like chicken, and she knows I do!"

"But I like chicken, too!"

"Children, please," said Malcolm, "if you want more so badly, I'll figure something out. I'll just need to find a way to get more... coin..."

Judith's head tilted, confused by her father's pause. "What's wrong, Papa?"

"...Carver, you go on ahead. Your mother could probably use some strong hands."

"Okay," he said as he began storming across the field, towards the little house that popped from the horizon, "but I'm gonna beat you next time, Judith!"

"Never!" her determined cry echoed. As Carver turned into a speck, she looked back at her towering father with wide eyes. "Papa?" peeped the eldest Hawke child. She heard a soft shifting, and her father bent his knee to face her. She winced, his musk of wheat and wood shavings made her nose twitch.

"Judith," he said with a rumbling baritone, "you know Carver looks up to you, right?"

She pouted, "He's got a funny way of showing it."

"I know, little bird, I know. He's not as mature as you. He doesn't yet understand I can't always be around for him, because of the magic. And he's not ready to accept these responsibilities. Not like you, my sweet, caring Judith. I've been forcing you to grow up sooner than you should..."

"It's okay, Papa. I'm a woman now. I can handle it."

"Please!" Malcolm could not help himself from chuckling. "A woman, she says. You still cut your hair like a boy!"

"Having short hair doesn't make me a boy, Papa, it just makes me a woman with short hair!"

"Of course, little bird, I'm sorry," he said, giving his eldest daughter a quick up and down. Her face was patched with scrapes and dirt from all the rigorous labor of the day. The bangs of her hair were matted against her rounded cheeks with sweat. Her sniffling nose protruded like the beak of a proud bird of prey. Her ruddy, square chin was firm. Just like Carver's, and just like his own. His two older children did not inherit his magic-something he thanked the Maker for every day-but they received everything else of his.

"Papa, are you sure you're all right?"

"Fine, dear," he retorted with a pat on his daughter's shoulder. "My point is... be gentle with Carver. He's still a boy, and he's not yet to terms with... this life. Remember how frustrated you were when we first had to move?"

"Y-yes..." she said, guilt reducing her rebellious voice to s meager squeak.

"Well, someday we may have to leave this town and start over again, perhaps even again after that. The only constant we have is that we will always be a family. What Bethany and I have, I know it's a burden on the two of you and your mother, so you need to stay together. You'll need each other."

"Okay, Papa," Judith sighed, "I'll try."

"That's my good little bird," said Malcolm, a small smile cracking on his broad, bearded face. "One more thing. Are you quite certain about this whole knight business?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?" she asked, her thick brows slanted and rosy bottom lip stuck out.

"Knighthood is a lot of work, a dangerous profession. I don't want to ever see you hurt. Your mother nearly passed out that time you had a scruff with those neighbor boys. Thank the Maker you didn't get a scar. Besides, the King's got plenty of knights already, but the family needs you."

"But I'm doing it for the family! I'll be protecting you! Besides, I've never lost a fight!"

"I see. But there's still a problem. In order to be a knight, one has to be a page, then squire, and those all require quite a bit of mo..."

She gripped her newly engraved sword and jabbed the air above her with its blunt wooden point. "I want to be a knight more than anything! I'll do whatever it takes!"

The father Hawke chuckled as he brushed a sweat-slicked bang from her face. "Well, that settles that, doesn't it? I'm sure you'll figure something out, you're such a smart and capable girl. Carver's right to look up to you. Now, let's hurry home before he eats all your chicken."

Malcolm opened his big, calloused hand to her, and Judith placed her tiny, scraped hand into the folds of his palm. Their happy hums drifted in the summer breeze as they walked home together.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey Hawke?" said Varric as he knocked his friend's bedroom door. "You got a minute?"

"Of course, come in," Hawke's silvery voice poured from out the door's cracks. The dwarf storyteller nudged it open with one hand, his other pressed against the small of his back, holding a loosely wrapped parcel.

"How are you this evening?" he said as he entered the room. He was greeted with the sight of meticulously tucked bed sheets and sorted paper piles on tables. A faint wisp of burning cedar and vanilla tickled his nose.

"I am well, thank you," replied Hawke, face still glued to the careful arrangement of letters, long brown locks of hair spilled down her cheeks and onto the desk. One hand gripped a quill, while the other scratched the scalp of a massive, paw-thumping mabari. "And you?"

"Good, thanks... hey there, Gallant!" he cheered as the dog ran towards him. "Easy now, big boy, watch the merchandise," he said as he gave the dog a heavy patting while he walked further in. "Your mother says you were in here for most of the day."

"I was. Kirkwall was unusually quiet today, so I thought I'd take care of some paperwork."

"Ah, that's Judy Hawke for you," Varric chuckled, "even when there's no work to be done, she's still working."

"There's always work to be done," she said as she craned up her long neck and shifted her gaze toward the dwarf. "And if I'm ever to make a difference here, I have to keep at it."

"Sure, but every day? Even Aveline knows when her shifts end. Of course, Donnic probably helps with that. Hey! How about we take you to..."

"No."

"Aww, you don't even know what I was going to suggest!"

"Varric," Hawke said coolly, turning herself in her wooden chair, "did you need something?"

"Well, I was in Lowtown, on my way to the Hanged Man, when who should turn up but Gamlen. Turns out he did get the money you sent him-money that he's already spent-but he still doesn't want to move into the estate."

Hawke shook her head. "So he's too proud to move in but not beneath my charity? I suppose I can't be all that surprised."

"Hawke, you don't really want him living with you, do you?"

"He's not...so bad... not entirely," she said as she flicked away her feathered bangs from her face, as if to distract herself from the uncomfortable sentence. "But he's family. I don't understand why he wouldn't want to live with his sister..."

Varric shrugged. "I didn't come to talk about him, Hawke. He was doing some 'airing out', and he threw something I thought looked important. I figured it was yours, and it got left behind in the move."

"The move?" Hawke cocked her head. "We were hardly able to take anything to Kirkwall, what could..."

Judith Hawke's bottom lip-plush and rosy flesh with a cut that split it and traversed down her chin-dropped as Varric approached, lifting the hand from behind his back and lifted the paper wraps. Stubby fingers unfurled to reveal a toy sword. It was made of an old and darkened wood, with scorch marks claiming the entire hilt and reaching to the base of the blade. The dwarf smiled as Hawke lifted the sword from him with delicate precision. "This is... I can't believe I almost left it there! How careless of me! I never would have forgiven myself."

"I thought it might have sentimental importance. Looks like there's a story behind it. Care to share? Some insight to the rise of Hawke, fierce warrior queen of Kirkwall, perhaps?"

"Varric, please..." Hawke's dark eyes drifted away from the dwarf and down at the sword, her fingers made a rough and bumpy journey across the charred and warped wood. Gallant sat beside her and licked her hand, whimpering. "My father made this for Carver."

"...Oh," Varric choked, "I'm sorry, Hawke. I didn't even think... shit. I know you don't like talking about your brother." With a shrug, he began pedaling backwards. "I'll just... leave you to your work. I'm really sorry."

The dwarf was underneath the door's framing when a soft, "...Wait," pulled him back in. "It's all right, Varric. I've dealt with it, at least to the best of my ability."

"You sure? I don't want to impose."

"No, it's fine. You've been a dear friend. Maybe it would help to tell someone." The Ferelden warrior gave the wooden sword a squeeze and sighed as she lifted her head again. "Ever since I was young, I wanted to be a knight, so my mother would read me stories, and my father made a toy sword for me. For years, I took it with me wherever I went. Then Carver had to have one, too, so father made this identical one, and we would spar. Sometimes we'd pretend we were both knights, and we'd fight for Bethany, who pretended to be a princess, locked in a tower."

"You three must've been a handful," said Varric with a wide grin.

"Indeed. I was so hard on him, though. I'd get annoyed when he copied me. I always beat him at our games, too, and he'd get so frustrated."

"What was he like, if you don't mind my asking? Sunshine mentioned him a few times before... she got sent to the Circle. Made him seem like a little terror, but she clearly missed him."

"Oh, he was. Put mud in our shoes, freed all the livestock, got in fights with children three times his size... I wasn't the best influence, I suppose. I even remember...oftentimes people would assume he and I were the twins, not he and Bethany. When we were still very small, people even thought us brothers. I was always just as dirty and violent as him, you see. I usually punched them for it, but it never upset him..."

"If I may be so bold, Hawke, it sounds like he was your biggest fan."

The Ferelden paused, fingers clenched on the blade. "I... suppose that might have been true. He... he even joined the King's Army after me, when he was of age. Even used the same weapons. Maker, if Carver were here with us... the Hawke family would have owned Kirkwall by now. Or at least we would have, if his personality weren't so big an obstacle. He could never stay out of trouble. And he wasn't as warm and fuzzy as I am."

"Hey now, you're warm when you want to be...maybe not so much fuzzy, but you try."

"He just... needed time getting used to things, getting used to people. The moves from town to town were hard on him. But he had his soft side, and a big heart. You and Isabela would have driven him up the wall, I bet, but I could see him getting along with Fenris and Sebastian... eventually." She looked up sighed wistfully, as though the words and memories were lifted burden as they passed through her mind and out her scarred lips . "That would have been so wonderful. All my boys here with me, together."

The dwarf raised a brow. "Your boys, Hawke?"

"Varric, come on, now. You're all kind of my boys."

"Yeah, I guess we are." Varric stepped closer, a firm grip on Hawke's shoulder. "You know, Hawke, in a way... you _are_ a knight, to all of us. You're always protecting people, being charitable and courteous. You even fought that dragon in the Bone Pit!"

"That's true. I guess all that's left on my knightly to-do list is to rescue a prince from a tower."

"Huh, well... next time I need to avoid to Guild, I could put on a crown while you carry me away."

"Oh, Varric," Hawke laughed softly, "thank you. This... this helped."

"Hey, anytime," he said as he looked at the sword and ran a finger through the hilt. "I can feel some indentations here, like someone wrote on it, but it's all burned up."

"Remember how I said we each had one? Father carved our names into them so we wouldn't fight. But when we returned to Lothering, the house was already catching fire. I tried to save what I could, what we needed... I only happened upon this one." Varric squinted at the hilt, trying to find a letter, any small character to imply the remnants of a name. Meeting his confused glance as he looked up, she loosened her shoulder, breathed deeply, and continued, "I... choose to believe this one is Carver's. We could barely take anything with us when the Darkspawn attacked, and we had to leave his bo... it's all I have left of him. I like to bring it with me when I travel. It's like... I have some small piece of him with me. I suppose that's rather silly."

"No, Hawke, that's not silly at all."

"How could you even tell this held any value? I'm grateful, but to anyone else, it's just a burned up old toy. Anyone else would have thrown it out, as Gamlen would have."

The light in the fireplace flickered, and Bianca's shadow crept farther along Varric's shoulder. "I just have an eye for these things."


End file.
